Suppose there is "one person" out there for all of us. While that may very well be true, the chances of you subsisting in time and space at the same time in reasonable proximity is no guarantee. I think chance has more to do with life than we'd like to admit. Yet for as open ended as "chance" appears to be it is deeply qualified, if not essentially determined, by our previous choices. At times it would be nice to be this way or otherwise. More opportunities would be there but ironically not an opportunity to participate in the here and the now, the single certainty and absolute in this consciousness. That's something big coming from someone who studies theology, but hey - doubt is a part of reality. Even Jesus the Christ expressed doubt at times. As a Catholic, I am often doubtful of the competency of parts of the Magisterium. Wait, that's probably because I'm essentially a Leftist Humanist before anything else.
But I digress.
I could be home right now. I could be dead right now, for that matter. While it's hard to see that my current station in life is in part due to the choices I made a long while ago, I know it's true. I'm 23 and will be turning 24 in less than two months. It's hard to connect the lessons learned from 6th grade detention pulling weeds to what I am now but it's there, someway somehow. At other times my present spectrum of choices has been limited by more deliberate choices. For example, I chose not to work in a hotel setting. Considering that most of my relatives, friends, and classmates did so at one point or another in their life, I am a rarity. Still, I refused to subject myself to that kind of subjugation. I don't mean to sound radical or anything but I honestly do believe that the "visitor industry" impacts many kama'aina in a negative way. How are those called to aspire to great things when they are forced to believe that their place in this world is cleaning up after people? Not to say anything about those who freely choose to work in that industry and enjoy it, but let's free what might be a small but otherwise highly gifted demographic that has never been empowered to think outside of the box.
But I digress even further.
Yes, I could come home every night at 9 and wake up at 5 to make the 15 minute drive to the hotel area on my island. But I don't and will not. What does that imply? For starts, it means that I won't be able to stay on my island and earn a decent living. In turn, I will likely not see many friends who are still there. In turn after that, I will probably feel somewhat isolated from their lives and their horizons when I do return home because I don't know what it's like to live a life in the same manner they do. In other words, we will have less and less in common the more removed from their environs I become. All of that because I made the simple choice: I shall not work in a hotel.
This likewise continues for every decision we make. Something as simple as taking the bus rather than driving an SUV has drastic impacts on preserving the health of the environment, and likewise, taking one route and living life in one way has an impact on one's relationship to their original community. As an isolated part of a whole, both the part and the whole suffer some deficiency. As a kama'aina in the mainland, my community misses me and I miss my community. Ironically, by leaving in order to come back more prepared to do good in my community, I cause a proximate harm. You can take that for whatever that means, including my fear, namely, not preserving the culture by simply being present.
So what's all this mean? It is simple: every day I narrow the possibilities of life by taking opportunities presented to me. This paradox, the paradox of growth and maturity, of development and fruition, is essentially nonsustainable; for to enter into the unknown we unknow what has been previously known to us. Such is the beauty of life.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I'm just a moke in academia
Yesterday I had one of the final meetings with my advisor/thesis director. It has been a very amicable, but very challenging, relationship. She's a new but highly respected scholar who returned to the University after years as a missionary in a developing country. She's schooled and wise, idealistic yet pragmatic, optimistic yet realistic, and thick skinned but with a tender heart.
She sits there at her desk, in her dim office lit by floorlamps and a desk lamp. Behind her are shelves of books, copies of journals, and the like. She sits firm, back straight and eyes up. She carries herself with a regality and command. Her clothing is sharp and professional; her shoulders are squared by an uncompromising jacket.
On the other side of the desk: rubbah slippas, jean shorts, one aloha shirt, and one moke with messy hair.
Some people here don't take me very seriously probably in part due to how I look. I'm not white and I'm not old. Slim and chic I am not. I'm a moke. I'm a big guy as my genes dictate - my family has always worked the land. I'm the first in my family do to this kind of "sissy stuff" - that is, going to school. My language doesn't flow like with most of the haoles. I have to think before I talk, and more words doesn't equal better speech.
So what? I'm just a moke in academia. That's how I'll remain.
She sits there at her desk, in her dim office lit by floorlamps and a desk lamp. Behind her are shelves of books, copies of journals, and the like. She sits firm, back straight and eyes up. She carries herself with a regality and command. Her clothing is sharp and professional; her shoulders are squared by an uncompromising jacket.
On the other side of the desk: rubbah slippas, jean shorts, one aloha shirt, and one moke with messy hair.
Some people here don't take me very seriously probably in part due to how I look. I'm not white and I'm not old. Slim and chic I am not. I'm a moke. I'm a big guy as my genes dictate - my family has always worked the land. I'm the first in my family do to this kind of "sissy stuff" - that is, going to school. My language doesn't flow like with most of the haoles. I have to think before I talk, and more words doesn't equal better speech.
So what? I'm just a moke in academia. That's how I'll remain.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I wish I were on Oahu
I wish I were on Oahu,
where the streets aren't so dirty,
where the air is cleaner,
where the people are friendlier,
where the food is edible,
where the sun shines every day,
where everyone stays younger,
where the aina is still alive,
where the trees are vibrant all year long,
where the water is blue,
where I belong.
Ditto for my home island of Kaua'i.
where the streets aren't so dirty,
where the air is cleaner,
where the people are friendlier,
where the food is edible,
where the sun shines every day,
where everyone stays younger,
where the aina is still alive,
where the trees are vibrant all year long,
where the water is blue,
where I belong.
Ditto for my home island of Kaua'i.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
back in the Bay Area
Ack.
Being home was so relaxing. Kauai is just so peaceful it can feel like an "event vacuum". It is tempting to fill in all of the voids and emptiness (I think we'd call it an awkward silence if Kauai were a person) with all sorts of trash. Quite frankly I think that's why so many Kauai people need to have some sort of white noise going on. The stillness there is deafening if can't get your mind around it. It's learning to accept privation that's key. There is a whole big and busy world out there. We certainly don't need it at home where "to-be-ness" still exists. Of course, then a random wild chicken crows and ruins everything.
Now that I am back in the Bay Area I miss the quiet. I miss the lack of cars, the annoying morning heat, the nice kind of humidity, the general pause on life.
People say that Kauai is a sort of neverland because people "never grown up." For a while I thought that might be true, but being there and seeing the fact straight on I can see that it isn't true at all. It's just different. A culture which appreciates simple things in life isn't an immature one. I am always struck at the courage, resiliency, and fun-loving lifestyle of the people back home. Granted it can be a bit embarassing when somebody tries to sound super deep in a pidgin accent. But the moke in me still loves it - and craves it. Ho brah, he go.
Being home was so relaxing. Kauai is just so peaceful it can feel like an "event vacuum". It is tempting to fill in all of the voids and emptiness (I think we'd call it an awkward silence if Kauai were a person) with all sorts of trash. Quite frankly I think that's why so many Kauai people need to have some sort of white noise going on. The stillness there is deafening if can't get your mind around it. It's learning to accept privation that's key. There is a whole big and busy world out there. We certainly don't need it at home where "to-be-ness" still exists. Of course, then a random wild chicken crows and ruins everything.
Now that I am back in the Bay Area I miss the quiet. I miss the lack of cars, the annoying morning heat, the nice kind of humidity, the general pause on life.
People say that Kauai is a sort of neverland because people "never grown up." For a while I thought that might be true, but being there and seeing the fact straight on I can see that it isn't true at all. It's just different. A culture which appreciates simple things in life isn't an immature one. I am always struck at the courage, resiliency, and fun-loving lifestyle of the people back home. Granted it can be a bit embarassing when somebody tries to sound super deep in a pidgin accent. But the moke in me still loves it - and craves it. Ho brah, he go.
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